My Sweet Eternal Love
by thatgirl0303
Summary: Alex O'Connell has had more life experiences than most, but one definitely stands out. Her name was Helena Pallworth, and she was more than a high school sweetheart. What happens when a mystery in Peru brings them together 4 years later? Alex/Lin, Alex/OC
1. Chapter 1

Alexander O'Connell had been around, to say the least. Twenty-two years old, and he'd traveled to exotic locations no one had ever heard of to battle supernatural beings no one would ever believe; he'd officially been enrolled in seven secondary schools and three universities (eventually graduating from Oxford with a tenuous degree in history, having only earned a bare minimum of credit in all his other required classes); though it would take years to match his parents' finds, he'd already earned a reputation with universities and museums as one of the best guys to have on your side when some artifact or another needed "acquiring"; not to mention, he had met and for the past three years had been engaged to the woman who most could only describe as his one true love.

That was where things took a bit of a funny turn.

Alex loved Lin very much, and there was no way to deny that he could very well spend the rest of his life with her, but (like any man) he had his doubts: firstly, Lin seemed to want the rest of their lives to start much sooner than Alex did—having already spent roughly 2,000 years tirelessly guarding the tomb of the most dangerous being either of them had ever encountered (plus three more years traversing the unknown world with her fiancée), she seemed to believe it was time to settle down and have a family. Alex, on the other hand, had been blessed/cursed with the restlessness of a Carnahan-O'Connell, and knew deep down that many years would have to pass before he was ready for the same stationary life than Lin so ardently advocated. Secondly – and this was the slightly less tricky of the two catches, though it had been nagging at the back of his mind for some time now – though Lin was his true love, she was by no means the only one.

Sometimes, Helena seemed more like a figment of Alex's imagination than an actual memory. They'd met during his first week at Brigadier-Lial Academy -- he remembered, September 7, 1944 -- in the nowhere town of Carlisle, Pennsylvania. Exclusive as it was, BLA only had 207 students at the time, only 53 of whom were seniors like himself, so everybody knew and anticipated reputed wild child Alex O'Connell's arrival. Some of them stared in disgust (the teachers), some in appreciation and curiosity (the boys), some in unabashed awe (the girls)—only one didn't seem to notice him at all.

"Who _is_ that?" Alex finally asked his lab partner, Roy Thomas, during their fourth day of advanced chemistry.

"Hmm?" replied the black haired boy, glancing up from their experiment to find out where Alex was looking.

"That one," he emphasized, nodding towards the far left lab table and the lone girl who sat there, absentmindedly completing the instructions on the board while simultaneously seeming to assist the struggling blonde across the isle. "The one who won't give me the time of day."

Roy chuckled, shook his head, and continued the lab. "Don't stare, Alex, I thought you were smoother than that."

"I am!" he protested indignantly, turning quickly back to the blank loose-leaf paper before him. "I'm just curious, is all."

"Her name's Helena Casey Pallworth. All I know is that she's got nice legs and a brain for chemistry."

Alex smirked, though it faded quickly when he glanced at the girl once more and saw that she still had yet to acknowledge his existence. How was he possibly less interesting than chemistry? "Come on, Roy, that's not fair. You've gotta have something better than that."

"Fine," the other boy sighed, swiveling towards Alex and lowering his voice. "Remember that plane crash over the Andes last year? Killed those two art collectors and like fifteen of their closest friends?"

Nodding, Alex tried to recall the incident. It'd been in the papers for weeks, especially after… "Right, right, and then a ton of stuff came out about CIA involvement or something? Some kind of cover-up that had everybody searching for whatever the Pallworths had supposedly been about to announce the discovery of…" Suddenly, he stopped. "Pallworth. The Pallworth tragedy. The museum people. You mean…"

"Like I said. Helena Casey Pallworth."

"Their daughter."

Roy nodded solemly.

"That's terrible," Alex sympathized, looking back at the girl across the room and deciding not to pry any further. He knew what it was like to lose a parent, even if it had only been for a matter of minutes. Helena had light skin with a few freckles across her nose and cheekbones, brown hair in big, loopy curls that were pulled back into a ponytail at the nape of her neck, a slim but still athletic build, and, as Roy had pointed out, never-ending legs. _You had to love school uniforms, if not solely for their flattery of the female figure,_ Alex mused to himself, though his thoughts were cut short when he realized that he was looking not at her legs, but at her eyes, and her eyes were looking back. The look in them was different from the simpery, lustful one most of the girls at BLA gave him, and Alex wasn't entirely sure what to do, so he just smiled and gave a quick upward nod. In retrospect, he thought, it probably looked a little too much like a come-on. Helena looked a little confused, but smiled back slightly and returned to her test tube, now intently focused on its contents and their interactions. The blonde next to her, having noticed the interaction, giggled and poked her friend subtly in the ribs. Helena just laughed silently and shook her head, futilely pretending not to have noticed.

"Be careful," warned Roy jokingly, "If you're too nice to her, half the girls at this school will have put a price on her head by Monday."

For a moment, Alex closed his eyes and grinned, basking in the ego boost that came with being the new kid, the mysterious kid, and the absolute center of attention for one (or maybe even two) awesome week(s). Girls at his feet, teachers on their guard—it was nothing short of…

The end-of-class bell suddenly rang loudly, cutting short his reverie. Having only five minutes to make it up two flights of stairs and across the length of the building to his next class, Alex scrambled to repack his satchel full of books, papers, and broken or extremely short pencils. By the time he looked up, half the class had already smoothly packed their things and moved on, Helena included. He cursed his messiness, knowing he wouldn't be able to catch up with her until lunch in – he checked his watch – roughly three hours. Damn.


	2. Chapter 2

"He was _so_ staring at you," muttered the blonde, her British accent evident.

"Was not," Helena retorted, choosing instead to focus all her energy on the most crucial decision she'd make that day: chicken or fish? High-quality as it was, the food at BLA definitely became tedious after three years of daily consumption.

"Was to!"

"Was not."

"Was to!"

"Lucy!" the seventeen-year-old cried in frustration as they moved over to their usual table in the center of the cafeteria. "He was not, he was _not_! He was… he was probably just staring at his reflection in the window. New kid," she muttered, mindlessly poking her boiled potatoes with a silver fork. "Thinks he's so great. Probably arrogant, self-absorbed, womanizing—"

"Anyone I know?" came an amused voice from directly behind her. Helena's eyes widened, and her fork clattered as she dropped it on her plate. She felt a kick under the table and looked up to see Lucy with a very pointed look on her face. Alex, meanwhile, had slid onto the bench beside Helena and begun contentedly digging in to his own chicken parmesan.

"I don't suppose you'd like to join us, Mister O'Connell?" she asked, the irony evident in her voice.

"You know who I am then," he stated, obviously satisfied. Helena blushed and glared at her now somewhat mashed potatoes. Alex looked somewhat pleased with himself, but the following silence was nothing if not awkward.

"So Alex," Lucy started, determined to keep the conversation moving in some sort of positive direction. "Your mother's Evelyn O'Connell, then? I've read her book, and I must say it's quite… riveting. No truth behind it all, then?"

"None at all," the youngest O'Connell lied smoothly. "We had our adventures, sure, but they weren't that – you know – romantic, or anything. And the mummies we found didn't usually come back to life."

Lucy pouted, popping a few raisins into her mouth. "That's so unfortunate."

"Hardly."

Finally, Helena forced her cheeks back to their normal complexion and looked up from her plate, wondering what exactly was going on. Was it possible that the newest, most mysterious, and arguably most handsome (she wasn't going to try and kid herself otherwise) addition to the BLA population really wanted to be her friend? She supposed he deserved the benefit of the doubt, after all, but something was missing… logic! That was it. Where was the logic in it all? Sure, after her parents' demise she'd been left a very sizeable estate, but rumor had it that money wasn't something any of the O'Connells had to worry about. She wasn't easy, by any means. If a boy wanted a girlfriend or a plaything or whatever label girls gave themselves these days, Helena Pallworth was not the one they went to. Maybe he hadn't been informed.

"What brings you to Brigadier-Lial, Mister O'Connell?" Helena inquired, finally finding her voice. "Word on the street is, you're not exactly in it for the academics."

He didn't look phased by her backhanded comment. In fact, he chuckled. Was he laughing at her? Really?

"No," he shook his head. "It's kind of a long story—"

"I have time," she cut him off, leaning on the table and looking directly at him. Maybe if she'd been taller, buffer, and a guy, it would've been an intimidating form of interrogation, but apparently that was not the case at present.

"As a matter of fact," Alex smirked and glanced at his watch. "you don't. Lunch is over… now."

At that exact moment, a screeching sound rang throughout the cafeteria, causing students to wince, cover their ears, and roll their eyes at the prospect of another two hours of classes. And to think it was only the first week of school.

"Later then, Mister O'Connell. I'm intrigued." She was going to get to the bottom of whatever his little 'I'm-your-friend-no-I'm-not-or-am-I' scheme before the week was out.

"Please," he scoffed, scooping up both their trays simultaneously and carrying them over to the depository. "Call me Alex."

Helena watched, dumbfounded, as he disappeared into the crowd. Turning to look at Lucy, she noticed that the same look had fallen on her friend's face.

Shaking her head and moving towards the door, she muttered a very delayed response to his parting suggestion.

"Whatever you say, Mister O'Connell."

* * *

The rest of the day passed very slowly for Alexander O'Connell. He zoned out entirely for the first half of Spanish, thinking about _her_.

He didn't get it. He really didn't. She didn't seem like anything special at first glance—pretty but not a movie star, bright but not a prodigy, independent but not a rebel. He didn't owe her anything or have some kind of history/bias. She'd never done anything to try and attract his attention. In fact, she'd never even shown interest in him. Helena Casey Pallworth was just inexplicably magnetic.

One hour into the class, Alex felt a jab at his shoulder.

"Alex!" whispered Roy sharply, poking him once more. "Alex, you're in the hot seat."

What? The hot seat? Alex's eyes shot up, and he and noticed Professor Harrison had a very stern look on his face.

"_She said it to him_, Mister O'Connell," came the elderly man's clear, crisp, unendingly frightening voice. "Translate, please. Do not make me repeat it again."

Wait, he'd already said it twice? That couldn't be good. A pregnant silence filled the room, and every head suddenly turned to face him, Helena's included. Her blue eyes glared at him from the front of the class, obviously doubting his ability to answer the question. He closed his own eyes, running the phrase through his mind and hoping the right translation would come out. Ella lo la… Ella le lo… Shit.

"Ella se lo dio," the words came tumbling out of Alex's mouth, and he heard an audible sigh of relief from Roy.

Professor Harrison took a deep breath. "Well done, Mister O'Connell," he praised, though Alex could tell the old man was more than a little disappointed at missing the opportunity to berate one of his students.

Risking a glance at Helena, Alex noticed that the look on her face had changed to one of—well, he couldn't tell for sure, but she seemed unsure whether to be frustrated or impressed. Secretly, he was pulling for the latter.


	3. Chapter 3

He's not attractive. He's not smart. He's not nice.

Not attractive. Not smart. Not nice.

Not attractive. Not smart. Not… oh, hang it. Who was she trying to kid? Helena had to admit it; she knew that Alex's allure was in more than his being the newest face on campus. Maybe he wasn't Cary Grant, but he wasn't bad looking, and combined with that stupid, confident smirk he was always wearing, the boy was damn near irresistible on that front. And that stunt in Spanish—maybe he did pull that translation out of the air, but foreign language pronouns weren't exactly an easy subject to handle on the spot like that. And sure, maybe he was a little arrogant – it wasn't as if the girls flocking to him over the course of the past week had done anything to help that situation – but it was too soon to make any judgments. No judgments. Judgments were bad.

"Maybe I will give him a chance," she said absently as she and Lucy slowly made their way downstairs towards the library. The attractively grungy (oxymoron?) stone walls seemed to echo her own words back at her, but before Helena could fully realize and retract what she'd said, it was too late.

Lucy's face lit up at the comment. "Do you really mean it?" she gasped, and Helena could tell it was all the girl could do not to start jumping up and down and clapping her hands. "Oh, that's wonderful, Lee!"

"Stop giggling or I'll change my mind," whispered Helena harshly, though a shy smile had begun to form on her face. "I just… I just mean as friends."

"Of course you do, darling," replied the British girl, still a little giddy at the thought of her best friend and Alex O'Connell becoming an item. Upon reaching the library's large oak doors, her tone changed slightly, and she added, "Listen, sweets, I know you feel some odd need to get your work done on time and everything, but I for one am not going to spend what little free time I have collecting dust – no offense – in the library."

"None taken, you know I'd never put you through that kind of torture. Have fun—go pretend you don't know me or something." Helena winked and stepped over the threshold, waving playfully to her friend, who was almost halfway down the hall in anticipation of a few hours alone with _Vogue_, _Vanity Fair_, or another one of her fashion periodicals.

Sighing, the brunette walked across the room with a sureness that could only come from spending the majority of one's time in a certain place. It was a little pathetic, she knew that, but to her, the companionship of great scholars and authors was preferable to that of rowdy, obnoxious schoolchildren with no sense of priority or…

"Sorry," she muttered, not paying much attention to the person she'd just run into until he spoke.

"Don't be, the whole absent-minded thing is kind of cute."

Helena's eyes narrowed slightly; she knew that voice all too well. _Se lo dio_… echoed the voice of Spanish classes past. She shook herself out of the daydream and found herself looking at an almost disgustingly confident Alex O'Connell. _Come on, you said you'd give him a chance_, one part of her cried. _No_, countered the other, _you said maybe. That implies that it's conditional._

"O'Connell," she said briskly, straightening out her skirt, which had become somewhat ruffled in the collision.

"Alex."

"Whatever," Helena rolled her eyes. She wouldn't succumb to such informalities, not yet.

Alex got a slightly pained look on his face, and he replied with a bit of an edge. "What is your problem, Pallworth? I'm trying to be nice. Like a nice person, who is nice. In a nice way. Do you have an issue with new kids or something, because…"

Helena shook her head, and the small action effectively silenced the boy in front of her.

"It's hard to explain," she admitted sheepishly, her gaze wandering to the array of students and professors in the room. "It's not that I don't like you, per say, it's just that I keep getting this… It's going to sound stupid."

Alex shrugged. "Yeah, it probably will, but go for it."

Wow, he certainly knew how to make a girl feel good about herself.

"I just keep getting this feeling like you have an ulterior motive and—"

"Wait, you think someone needs an ulterior motive to talk to you?"

"But they do, don't you see? I'm not exactly the world's most captivating conversationalist or anything like that."

"You've still got me talking. That means something."

"Why, Mr. O'Connell, are you usually easily distracted?"

"Yes."

"Oh."

The girl paused and took a brief moment to reflect on what could only be described as a relatively witty exchange, which was certainly new to her. Alex, on the other hand, seemed to know exactly what he was doing, having used the past 90 seconds to maneuver himself so that he was backing her up against one of the large oak desks in the room. _Oh… oh, crap, people are staring now…_ her inner voice muttered frantically, though there wasn't much to be done about it at this point.

"Go out with me," Alex said, far too plainly and openly for Helena to even consider taking him seriously. No one propositioned that effortlessly—it was impossible.

"You're joking," she suggested, lifting an eyebrow. The blonde shook his head and shrugged.

"Not at all. You can say no if you'd like, but I'll just keep asking." Helena frowned in response, at a bit of a loss for what to do.

"Are you always this straightforward?"

"Only for the first week or so, you've just got good timing."

She paused, wondering if she should risk inquiring whether it was her personality or her timing that made him like her. "You're serious, then."

Alex nodded, and Helena realized that he still had the upper hand, even if he though that he was going out on some sort of limb here. Firstly, she was _pinned to the desk_, so no risk of running away. Secondly, even if she said no, there were 20 other girls lined up to say yes. And thirdly… she didn't remember the third one.

"Well, then… yes, I suppose we could do that."

The boy looked slightly taken aback. "Wait, really?" he asked, stepping back. "You're saying yes, just like that?"

"Was I supposed to say no?" the brunette asked, suddenly worried that she should've been more coy.

"No, no," he replied quickly, grinning. "That's great!"

"Great," Helena was unable to contain her own grin, despite her initial reservations.

"Great."

* * *

**Author's Note:** The next chapter will be the beginning of their 1949 adventure. Thanks to everyone for their sweet reviews, especially the sweetheart and Mummy-writer-extraordinaire known as Jac Danvers. Toodles til Peru!


	4. Timeline of Events

**Author's Note:** Here's a brief timeline of events that I've calculated out (hopefully accurately) in case anyone is confused by the story's chronology. Hope this helps!

* * *

_1926 –_ Rick and Evelyn meet, go on their first adventure, and get married.

_1927 –_ Alex is born on the twenty-eighth of August.

_1928 –_ Helena is born on the fourteenth of January.

_1940 –_ The Pallworth plane crash in the Andes causes a media riot—Helena, having been left home in Philadelphia with the flu, is now the only surviving member of the immediate family.

_September 1944_ – Alex enrolls at Brigadier-Lial Academy and romances Helena Pallworth.

_June 1945 –_ After graduation, the two part for yet to be explained reasons.

_1946 –_ The O'Connells fight the Dragon Emperor. Alex and Lin fall in love and get engaged. Jonathan moves to Cuzco and opens a nightclub, Shangri-La.

_1947 -_ Rick and Evelyn, coming to the realization that they're not ready to retire, return to Egypt so that she can curate the Cairo Museum and he can continue working for the CIA as a foreign intelligence agent.

_June 1949 –_ Alex and Lin, still engaged, graduate from Oxford with degrees with History and Literature, respectively. Immediately after, they jet off to Peru on invitation from UPenn.


	5. Chapter 4

Passport? Check.

Tool kit? Check.

Pens and paper? Check.

Long johns? Alex rolled his eyes.

Having spent the majority of his time as an archaeology student in Egypt, Syria, and China, the concept of winter in June was taking some mental and packing list adjustment.

The twenty-two-year-old took a brief moment to examine and then scowl childishly at the mess that was his half of the bed, hoping fruitlessly for the pile of rumpled clothes, abused maps and books, and intimidating assortment of weaponry to pack itself neatly into his beat-up steamer trunk. Lin's things, of course, had been sitting cleanly and quietly in her own trunk since some time the night previous. Despite the constant self-reminder that his fiancé had about 1,980 years of life experience on him, Alex constantly found himself daunted by Lin's deadly efficiency in all things academic, athletic, and domestic. Lately, he'd been having difficulty keeping up with her combination of practiced internal peace and two millennia of pent-up mortal energy.

But back to packing… stupid Peru and its long johns.

It'd been a week since the mysterious telegram had appeared in the mailbox at his and Lin's London flat.

_To: Alexander O'Connell, Qing Lin_

_From: L.P._

_Subject: Project 10x28x41s76x26x51w_

_Your expertise is requested STOP_

_Please be prompt STOP_

_This is right up your alley STOP_

Normally, Alex prided himself (not to mention Lin) in having great instincts—however, this was a hard one to read. Anyone with an IQ higher than 80 could figure out within a few minutes that the subject was a reference to the coordinates, and a short call to Evelyn and her endless collection of atlases confirmed that the latitude and longitude pointed to an area about 130 kilometers west of Cuzco.

_"Espiritu Pampa," his mother was able to deduce immediately, the smugness of being right evident in her voice. "I know everyone believes that nonsense about Machu Picchu and all its superiority, but my research has led me to believe that Espiritu Pampa is the true lost city of the Incas, Alex! The final stand against…"_

_"…the Spanish. Yes. Mom, I know." As useful as her internal database of archaeological knowledge had proven in the past, it didn't make her patronizing explanations any less irritating.  
_

_"I know you know, darling."  
_

_"What do you think I should do?" he'd asked quietly over the phone, checking to make sure no one was around to hear the hesitation in his voice. "How do I know this is real? I mean, no one's even been there since…"  
_

_"1910. Hiram Bingham."  
_

_"That's what I was about to say."  
_

_"I know."  
_

_"Then why did you…? Never mind," Alex shook his head in frustration, gripping the phone a little tighter and collapsing into a nearby armchair. "You don't think it's another resurrection plot, do you? Like Beijing?"  
_

_"No, no," Evelyn tutted. He could hear her chuckling across the line. "Well, I suppose it's possible, previous events considered, but don't you think that would be a bit redundant?" Alex couldn't help but laugh quietly.  
_

_"Lin thinks we should go."  
_

_"I think you should listen to Lin. You can take care of yourselves, Alex—that much is obvious. And if you need help…"  
_

_"Don't worry, Mom, you and Dad'll be the first to know."  
_

_"Excellent, now… oh, yes?" He could tell she was talking to someone outside the line. "Oh? Oh, yes, of course. Alex, darling, I have to go. Hopefully we'll talk again before you leave, but if not… well, don't die."  
_

_Since when had his mother become so cavalier about death? Of all people…  
_

_"Don't worry, I'll come back with mind-blowing stories of close escapes and near-death experiences."  
_

_"And don't forget to call Jonathan when you get there, I'm sure he'd be happy to put you and Lin up for a couple of nights in Cuzco."  
_

_"Course. Mom, go do what you have to do, we'll talk later."  
_

_"Alright, Alex. I love you. Good luck."  
_

_"Love you too, mom. Say hi to Dad for me."_

And that was that. Within twenty-four hours, he and Lin had officially begun what turned out to be one of the most arduous packing process of their lives, mostly because they had no idea what to expect. Lin, of course, thought that was the best part about the whole thing – the mystery – but frankly, it was making Alex a little nervous. He'd always had an idea of what he was up against, at least on some level, but then a telegram arrives begging for his "expertise" at the supposed lost city of the Incas with no indication as to what kind of expertise is needed (though he supposed they meant archaeological), and both Lin and his mother just expect him to jump on a plane to the middle of nowhere and see what happens? And besides, there had been something nagging him about the whole situation, some vague memory or association that he had yet to place. It was odd, since none of this was familiar to him outside of some light reading in high school.

Bailey… Bellevue… where on earth was his copy of _Lost City of the Incas_? He was sure Bingham had been wrong on a number of historical matters, but as far as clues to the point of all this went, this book would be the biggest possible source. Alex balanced precariously on an office chair (it had been propped up in his closet-sized library as an impromptu ladder for some time now) and scanned the highest shelves, the B section – his mother had appeared out of nowhere one day and catalogued everything alphabetically, of course – Beverly… Biffle… Suddenly, a silver glint a few books down caught Alex's eye, and he reached over just far enough to snatch a thick piece of paper out from between two heftier volumes. It was a 3 ½ x 5 inch photograph of a 17-year-old girl with curly brown hair, big blue eyes, and the ugliest orange cardigan on the planet – even though you couldn't tell from the monochromatic picture – with the words "Helena Pallworth, Brigadier-Lial Academy Class of 1945" silver-embossed across the bottom. He didn't have to turn it over to remember what was scrawled delicately on the back—"Mummy Man, I love you. I will love you always. –H"

That was it. That was the memory that had been nagging him for the past five days. The Pallworth plane crash had taken place in that same region of Peru. In fact, Alex and Helena had spent the majority of their senior year doing research on the area and trying to draw a connection between its history and her family's suspicious demise.

A crazy thought suddenly entered Alex's head, but he dismissed it quickly and sat down on the bed, wincing as he heard a book binding somewhere snap under his weight… he really should clean this up.

"You really should clean that up," came a soft voice from the doorway, and Alex looked up to see the his fiancé standing there in a yellow silk robe, backlit by the amber hall lights and giving him a demure, close-lipped smile. It was difficult to imagine that behind the smoky black eyes, porcelain skin that had survived thousands of Nepalese winters, and housewife attire, there was a lethal amount of force and intellect, a power not to be reckoned with, as Alex had learned on the day they'd met. She'd almost killed him then… that would've been unfortunate. He stood and walked slowly over to her, transfixed—no matter how many days and nights they spent together (studying, talking, fighting, or _otherwise_ engaged), her beauty and deceptive delicacy never ceased to amaze him.

"God, you're beautiful," he murmured, wrapping his arms around her waist and grinning when she didn't resist. Then again, why would she?

"Oh, Alex," she whispered into his ear, causing him to shiver and begin kissing lightly down the side of her face. "That's sweet…" Then, suddenly, she pulled back and pressed her hands lightly to his shoulders. "…but _somebody_ has to finish packing so that we can sleep in our own bed tonight, hmm? No distractions."

She had a fair point. The two had been sleeping on various pieces of furniture and the apartment's softer carpets for the past two nights, as their gear was currently occupying almost every surface of the bedroom.

"What's that?" Lin asked suddenly, her eyes flitting to the corner of paper sticking out of his back pocket.

"Oh, it's, um..." Before he could finish, she'd already grabbed and was now examining the photograph curiously. Alex grimaced, praying that Lin didn't have a hidden jealous side that was about to be revealed.

"Mummy Man," she read slowly, tilting her head and narrowing her eyes, "I love you. I will love you always. -H... for Helena Pallworth... she's--"

"It was high school," Alex cut in. "Years ago. I haven't seen her since I was 18. I didn't even know I still had that picture, it just showed up in my closet and--"

Lin lifted an eyebrow and smirked, handing the picture back to her husband-to-be. "I was going to say that she's very lovely. You have good taste in women, Alexander Frederick O'Connell."

Alex breathed a sigh of relief and took one last glance at the photo before sliding it back in to his pocket. "Have I mentioned lately how much I love you, Lin?"

"It may have come up in conversation. Now, my darling, my dear, my love, please... _pack_."


	6. Chapter 5

To some, Shangri-La signified a mysterious land of eternal life. To others, it was simply the name of the hottest nightclub in Cuzco, a crossroads of wealth and desperation, shining lights and shadowy corners, merriment and showdowns, beautiful faces and the ugly hearts beneath them. To the aforementioned club's equally infamous British proprietor, it was both.

Not as young as he'd once been, though certainly not dead, at 44 years old Jonathan Carnahan was the most successful entertainer and restaurateur in the greater Cuzco area. His adventure days were a thing of the past, and every night he prayed for them to stay that way. Business kept him busy enough as it was; the last thing he needed or wanted was another O'Connell call to action. This was not to say that he didn't care deeply for the well being of his dear, sweet, baby sister, her husband, and her offspring, but isolation punctuated by the occasional telegram or holiday phone call suited him just fine.

It was the fourteenth of September 1949, the two-year anniversary of Shrangri-La's grand opening, and Jonathan was holding a gala to celebrate the auspicious occasion. Everyone in the upper echelon of Peruvian society was there: socialites, politicians, academics, and wealthy expatriates dominated the room. They glided across the bamboo dance floor, swayed on their way to and from the ornate (and notably well-stocked) bar, and chatted quietly in the more shadowy booths and corners.

"Glorious, isn't it?" mused Jonathan to no one in particular, sipping from a glass of scotch and taking in the beauty of the dark, vaulted ceiling, brightly lit stage (not to mention the gorgeous red-head singing on it), multicolored Chinese paper lanterns, and thematically decorated walls, including an enormous papier-mâché dragon suspended over the main entrance to the building.

"It certainly is," replied a cool feminine voice with a faintly Londonian accent. Surprised, Jonathan spun around, almost spilling what was left of his drink on the vision that had just appeared before him. The woman was about five-foot-six with long blond hair, ivory skin, light brown eyes, and lusciously red lips—had he not been fairly experienced in dealing with lovely women (both as a playboy and as the owner of a club), the Englishman probably would've begun stuttering like a 12-year-old.

"Do I know you?" he inquired, sure that he would've remembered such a face/figure combination, especially the way it was highlighted by her long, fire engine-red dress and glittering white stole. The young woman, she must have been in her early twenties, grinned and shook her head lightly. Her light, wavy hair vaguely reflected the different colored lights in the room, giving the effect that she was part of the room itself.

"I don't suppose you do, Mister Carnahan, but--"

"Please, please," Jonathan interjected, waving his hands dismissively, not bothering to wonder how she knew his name. Everybody around here knew Jonathan Riley Carnahan."Call me Jon... speaking of which, I don't think you've mentioned your name, Miss..."

"Liles. My first name is unimportant, Jon," she replied sweetly, offering him a gentle smile and tilting her head just so. "The only important thing is _this_."

With that, she reached into her black, leather pocketbook and withdrew a smoothly folded piece of parchment stamped with the label "10x28x41s76x26x51w." A confused look invaded his features, and he took the paper hesitantly, pinching it between his thumb and forefinger as if it were about to explode in his hand. An ominous silence filled the space between him and Miss Liles, and Jonathan suddenly had a bad feeling about what would appear to anyone else as an innocent letter.

"What... is... this..." he asked slowly, carefully, acknowledging the mood's new gravity.

Miss Liles seemed to understand his apprehension, and said simply, "Don't open it. Not here... Alex will understand."

Before Jon could fully comprehend those baffling words, she'd disappeared into the crowd. Although he could've sworn he saw a flash of red and white near the back door, the whole situation was incapacitatingly confusing, and he hadn't the initiative to follow her. "Alex will... what?" he muttered, stuffing the parchment into his inside jacket pocket and taking a long drink of scotch. "This can not be good."

* * *

**Author's Note:** Sorry about all these short chapters!! I'm just trying to publish whenever I feel finality with a scene, so that it doesn't drag on forever while I try to turn three scenes in to one chapter. Thanks to everyone for reading and for your wonderful, encouraging reviews. XoXo Liz


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